


Champion and Challenger

by BajillionKittens



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gen, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-07 17:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BajillionKittens/pseuds/BajillionKittens
Summary: Night after night, there are transmissions. Chatter. Words. From some civilization far off world. She listens intently. Trying to make some sense of it all. There are broadcasts, communications. Every once in a while, there is music. And for nearly a week solid, there are sports.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I scribbled this idea down back in early April when we got our "first look" at Lotor. Canon will be blowing this all out of the water very shortly (probably already has--I've not kept up with the SDCC news), but in the meantime, enjoy!

Night after night, there are transmissions. Chatter. Words. From some civilization far off world. She listens intently. Trying to make some sense of it all. Trying to find some small clue. Trying to find her family.

The language is foreign. Unlike anything she's heard before. But before long, she thinks she can hear the emotion behind the words. Boredom. Excitement. Fear. Repeated words and phrases start to take on meaning. "Rep-its-ah." A sign-off. A farewell. 

She's beginning to understand.

There are broadcasts—information being sent out to the listening audience. There are communications—transmissions between two or more parties, often all of them bored. Every once in a while, there is music. Catchy pop songs from a galaxy far, far away that she finds herself humming as she breaks down her equipment at night. And for nearly a week solid, there are sports. Lots and lots of sports.

The overly excited play-by-play grates on her nerves, but she suffers through. Even as she attempts to switch frequencies, the commentators change, but the "game" stays the same. She has zero interest in sports—of any sort, really—but soon enough, she's picking up on the names of the teams. Competitors. Whoever or whatever it is that's facing off. 

By the end of the third night, she recognizes a pattern. A bracket. Single elimination. By the end of the eighth night, the team ending in "-atch" and the team beginning in "Rei-" are the only remaining.

She's become bored with "-atch"'s exploits. For once, she doesn't feel bad doing her homework while listening in. There's a distinct lack of enthusiasm when "-atch" is on the field. Some rounds are short, some are long. Some rounds have one competitor, some have two. Every time, "-atch" wins. Which is a given considering the bracket system, but still. "-atch" is efficient. Direct. Focused. Boring. The commentators try to liven things up. She knows their tone enough to know they're feigning interest. "-atch" simply doesn't have the flair for the dramatic that other competitors do. Especially "Rei-."

"Rei-"'s games are quick-paced. High-emotion. Action-packed. Roller coaster rides. The commentators trill their words. Repeat themselves into a frenzy. Nearly scream with excitement over "Rei-." And every word of it is laced with the tinge of disbelief. A dark horse, she decides. She begins cheering for them without realizing it. Her hands involuntarily thrusting into the air as "Rei-" makes it into the final round.

By the time she has all of her gear set up on night nine, the match has already started. Energy is high. She can almost feel it pulse through her headphones. The crowd bleeds through the audio. Cheers. Boos. Excitement. The commentators' emotions swing like a pendulum. Back and forth. Up and down. She can't follow the actions exactly. She doesn’t know the words. But the energy fills her mind with images. "Rei-" dances. Dodges. Explodes with energy. Smooth. Quick. Agile. "-atch" is nearly mechanical. And not in the way she likes. He targets. Strikes. Draws back. Targets again. "-atch" is doing their best to bring things to a swift end, but that's not "Rei-"'s style. "Rei-" wants to put on a show. And she wants to be entertained.

Three hours. Five intermissions. Still no winner. The muscles along her shoulders are so tight they might snap. She's ground her nails down to the quick. Her senses are focused so much on what she hears that she's not sure she can still see. She wants "Rei-" to win. "Rei-" has to win. Has to win soon.

The commentators are panting. Tired. Emotionally worn. She imagines "Rei-" and "-atch" are much the same. There's slow, careful movement on the field. The commentator's words, low, clipped. Moving faster. Louder, smoother. Faster. Louder, slurring together. A clash! The commentators shout. The crowd erupts. A strike. Another. The strange foreign words trill across the airwaves in frantic succession. It has to be "Rei-." This is quintessential "Rei-." "Rei-" has to win!

Just as she thinks the commentators may burst from excitement, they stumble over their words. Confusion. Turns to frustration. Turns to irritation. The crowd murmurs. Begins booing. An announcement echoes through the far off stadium—bored and official. The commentators clear their throats. Then—

Music.

"No!" she shouts. Then remembers her situation. Begins venting her frustrations under her breath as she switches frequencies. "No, no, no! What's happening? Who won?!"

The music spills over from one station to the next.

"Who won?"

There are no sports the next night. 

There are broadcasts. Communications. Music. But no sports. 

Perhaps the season ended. 

She's consumed once more by the search for her father and brother. "-atch" and "Rei-" never cross her mind. 

Until they cross her path.


	2. Chapter 2

The Altean translators are a thing of wonder. Simultaneously, she can hear the words being spoken in both the native tongue and a translated version. Allura and Coran are an odd sort of echo as their flowing, curling Altean becomes a bassline for the translated—albeit accented—lyrics of their speech. There are still words that remain untranslated. "Quiz-knack" must not have an equivalent. She wants to test the limits of the technology. (She understands some Spanish. Would she hear Lance in his native tongue if he spoke a word she knows?) Her experiments will have to wait. 

There's a universe to defend. Prisoners to rescue. Prisoners who may help her find her family. Prisoners who apparently know Shiro.

The translator's English becomes so dominant to her ear that she almost doesn't catch what the prisoners call Shiro. Almost. They're so busy trying to escape from the enemy ship that she doesn't have time to question them. So busy trying to come together as a team that she doesn’t have time to question Shiro. But not so busy that she can't questions herself. As she waits for the cryopods to do their thing—the Altean technology is a dream come true! she can't wait to tear into it!—she plays the exchange over in her head. Again and again. It's been better than a month since those nights on the Garrison rooftop listening to the play-by-play. It's possible she's misremembering the words. But it sounds so familiar. She's positive it's the same. Positive it's important. Positive it will help her find her family.

"They called you 'Champion,'" she prompts. Wishes she could reverse the translation to force the original word from her lips. "-atch" would be more correct. Would elicit more response. "What does that mean?"

Even without the true word, Shiro's uncomfortable. Reluctant. Suspicious. "I don't know. I can't remember very much from that time."

He will remember. She'll make him remember. This is important. This will help her find her family. Before she can press him further, before she can push him farther, the pods open. He's safe for the moment. She has more targets to question. More information to gather. The truth will reveal itself. She need only ask the right questions. To get the right answers.

The answers are not all that comforting. She'd listened to blood sport. Gladiators. For nine nights. She had looked forward to it. She had enjoyed it. People—aliens—had died. For her entertainment. And the gladiator who had attacked Matt. Hurt Matt. Hurt her brother. Direct. Focused. Efficient. That was "-atch." That was “Champion.” That was Shiro. 

"Rei-" should have won. 

She carries the thought with her the rest of the day. Lets it grow. Lets it fester. Waits for the opportunity to use it against him. The moment he's no longer useful. The moment he's no longer needed. She'll tell him. She'll wound him. Injure his pride. Break him. Hurt him. He hurt Matt. She'll hurt him.

The moment never comes.

By the end of the day, she's glad "Rei-" didn't win. Glad she didn't tell Shiro she wishes he had. But more than anything, she's embarrassed. Embarrassed that she had listened in on his torment. Had enjoyed it. Had rooted against him. Had continued to root against him even today.

Her embarrassment flows down her cheeks. There's so much of it. Some of it will remain. "I'm so sorry I doubted you!" she says through her tears. 

Matt was alive. Is alive. Somewhere. She has to believe. Because Shiro had sacrificed himself. Because Shiro had become "Champion." Because Shiro had been "-atch."

…

Lotor's subordinates are surprisingly… insubordinate. The radio chatter they pick up from _Zarkon: the Sequel_ and his generals sounds more like a conversation between siblings than a supervillain and his underlings. They joke. They tease. They call each other names. Even in the midst of combat, they remain casual. Comfortable with the situation. Comfortable with one another. The girls are especially fond of calling Lotor by an apparent nickname: "Challenger."

The name rings familiar to her ear. Not its translation. The Galran. The whispered native tongue hanging under the accented English. "Reihar." She's heard it somewhere before. Where? Why is it familiar? When she realizes the connection, her stomach drops. The Green Lion stalls mid-battle. Lance is forced to save her. Blue is worse for wear, but they survive.

"Rei-."

She's not sure why she wants to hide the information from Allura and Coran. No matter the reasoning, she waits until it's just her and the boys. The four of them gather together in the common room to quietly lick their wounds. It's become a common occurrence since Shiro disappeared. Their escape from the universe. Their one comfort in the unknown. Each other. She shatters the quiet closeness of the room. Not wanting to carry the burden alone any longer. "I think Shiro fought Lotor in the arena." 

All three of them turn to her in an instant. Hunk is confused. Trying to read between the lines. Work out all the details. He needs to know all the working parts. There will be questions. He needs answers. Lance is shocked. His expression open with disbelief. Or refusal to believe. Even with Hunk's answers, Lance may need more time to process. Keith is mixed. Confused. Shocked. Angry. Heart broken. Longing. Alone. Embarrassed. Resolute. Vengeful. Keith is quiet.

"I used to pick up transmissions of the fights," she explains. Adding quickly, "I didn't know what they were at the time, but I've since figure it out. And that name Lotor's fangirls sometimes call him? Rei-har? Challenger? Shiro once fought someone by that same name."

"But…" Hunk's confusion grows, skewing up his brows. "I thought Shiro was undefeated?"

"The fight didn't end normally. The announcers were really up in arms over it. But I'm positive it was Lotor." Lance's expression is now a firm refusal to believe. Keith is quiet. She feels like she's losing. She doesn’t like to lose. "Look," she says. Angry. "We don't know anything about Lotor. But Shiro does. If we find him, maybe he can tell us his weakness or something."

"When we find him," Keith echoes. Softly. Determined.

…

They find Shiro. But it takes a while longer for him to find them.

Shiro comes back in stages. Body first. Limp and lifeless. They all fear the worst. She does at least. For nine nights, he's still. Adrift in a dreamless sleep. She almost loses hope. Not long after he wakes, she does.

Mind is next. Alert and aware, but cold and calculating. He speaks little. When the words do come, they're sharp. With no regard for their reaction. He's direct. Efficient. Mechanical. A tactician without tact. "Champion." The night his cutting assessments reduce Coran to tears of frustration is the night she gives up. Everything they had come to love about Shiro is gone. His warmth. His encouragement. His positivity. His hope. All of it gone. Shiro is gone. And they'll never get him back.

After a seemingly endless string of tense, fearful days, punctuated by unsuccessful battles against the Galra and among themselves, there is light in Shiro's eyes again. He smiles—just the barest curl to one corner of his mouth. He laughs—a light, airy, ephemeral whisper of a noise. He cries—unable to control the tears that continually stream down his face as one by one he draws them all near like he's seeing them for the first time since he disappeared. 

Finally, finally, soul. He finds them.

She takes every opportunity she can to be near him. As do the boys. And as do Allura and Coran. Although none of them log more hours by his side than Keith. If Shiro's bothered by the constant attention, he doesn't let on. Given how receptive he is to the unending physical contact he gets from all of them, she would be very surprised to hear him voice any complaints.

Attention. Affection. Time. They give him all they have. And they have very little time. 

She doesn’t want to hurt him. Doesn’t want to lose him. But they have to know. She pulls herself from his side. Unwinds his arm from around her shoulders. Puts some space between them.

"Shiro," she begins. Voice level. Nerves shaking. Eyes looking anywhere but at him. "Do you remember fighting a guy called Challenger?" 

She glances at him. For a moment, she fears she's broken him. Fears he's regressing. Shiro's expression turns blank. She imagines the light disappearing from his eyes once more. Keith shoots her a worried glance. She holds her breath.

But then Shiro smiles. Clever. Pleased. Predatory. "I know how we can stop Lotor."

**Author's Note:**

> Find this fic [on Tumblr](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com/post/163714672477/gen-pidge-centric-part-one-part-two) for easy reblogging! And feel free to [drop me a line](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
